


We Met on a Midnight Train

by justrae2010



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol may lead to bad decisions, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Career, Food Sex, M/M, NSFW, Trains, Travel, VictUuri, Vodka, masterbating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 19:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13596693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justrae2010/pseuds/justrae2010
Summary: “Hi.”Yuuri’s eyes bolted open.The shine still glossed over his glasses in the windows reflection, but a tilt of the head filled the blinding whiteness, reality crashing back home.And the reality was that the stranger standing behind him was the most beautiful man Yuuri had ever seen.He smiled, pearly white teeth perfect, and beautiful, and - “I’m Victor,” he said, bright blue eyes sparkling in the window of the train, strong Russian accent clipping his words. “What’s your name?”Where a struggling novelist Yuuri stuck for inspiration meets man that he did not expect on the midnight train across Europe, and it kicks his writer's block right in the balls. Short drabble that became 5k words somehow...





	We Met on a Midnight Train

**Author's Note:**

> Done for Day Seven Victuuri Week.
> 
> Victor Prompt: Journeys 
> 
> Yuuri Prompt: Rest
> 
> AU: Alternative Careers.
> 
> Where Yuuri is a struggling novelist and Victor is.... something else.
> 
> I apologise in advance.

Yuuri stared out of the snowy window of his train compartment with his chin in his palm, fingers wrapped around a glass of strong vodka. He didn’t really care for it much; but he needed something to take the edge off and it had been the cheapest thing on the drinks list. Outside, Switzerland was dark and gloomy, cold and distant. Yuuri could make the dark outline of every house they passed, but somehow the villages and towns still felt light years away, like he was watching a scene in a movie through his window rather than the real world.

Perhaps it was just his wishful thinking, his imagination. He had come on the long train to escape reality after all, to get away from the world he knew and leave it long behind…

Then again, maybe it was just the vodka.

He took another sip for good measure, grimacing at the burn down his throat. _Yeah_ , he thought, tilting the glass until it glinted in the low light. _Definitely the vodka._

The compartment was nothing special. It didn’t need to be. Come sunrise Yuuri would be in a new city - a new country - and would get to start again, over and over again like so many times before… Poland was the end destination this time, if Yuuri remembered rightly. If he stayed. Berlin had intended to be the end of the road. Then Barcelona, then London, then Rome. Now Yuuri found himself on a midnight train from France to Poland, wondering if this would be the one.

It was a small room in the train compartment, nothing but a window and two beds pressed against the wall, one on top of the other with a thin metal ladder leading to the top bunk. Yuuri’s rucksack lay on the bottom one, staking a claim.

His bunk mate had yet to arrive.

Maybe if he was lucky, he wouldn’t get one and would get the compartment to himself. It was unlikely. When he’d booked the tickets in Paris, he had gotten one of the last spaces going, but he could still hope. The peace and quiet would be appreciated, the space to think with himself, figure out what he was going to do.

Yuuri’s dark mahogany eyes glinted in the reflection in the window, shining from the glow of the light bulb swinging from the ceiling bouncing back in the glass. He drank in his own reflection with a heavy heart.

He didn’t like what he saw. His eyes had dark bags under them even though Yuuri didn’t feel tired, his skin pasty and pallid. Everything about him was dull. A man of twenty three and he looked as weary as one of seventy. His eyes looked bland and his hair dull on his head, brushing over his eyebrows lifelessly. A tilt of his head and the light bounced off his glasses, hiding his eyes in the reflection behind the white shine. _Better_ , he couldn’t help but think, eyes fluttering shut. It was better when the world couldn’t see him, when he was invisible.

More vodka slipped past his lips, sipping at the drink thimbleful at a time. The alcohol burned at his throat, slow, and steady, and warmly distracting.

“Hi.”

Yuuri’s eyes bolted open.

The shine still glossed over his glasses in the windows reflection, but a tilt of the head filled the blinding whiteness, reality crashing back home.

And the reality was that the stranger standing behind him was the most beautiful man Yuuri had ever seen.

He smiled, pearly white teeth perfect, and beautiful, and - “I’m Victor,” he said, bright blue eyes sparkling in the window of the train, strong Russian accent clipping his words. “What’s your name?”

Yuuri wasn’t sure. He’d forgotten. His name was an unintelligible mash of syllables by that point but he did his best to spit them out regardless, not quite hearing what exactly came out of his mouth but watching his mouth move in the reflection. Whatever it was, it made the stranger - no, _Victor’s_ \- smile widen. It was stunning.

Cold washed down Yuuri’s spine, and he tried to pull himself together. So he wasn’t getting his own compartment - but with a man like that, could he really complain?

 _Yes_ , he decided. When said man made him forget his own name, that was a problem.

Yuuri decided to overlook that.

His knees felt stiff and broken when he shuffled around, fingers numb around his short glass and feeling his eyes bulge just a little too wide as he glanced back over his shoulder at his travel-mate.

Victor was even more good looking in person than his ethereal reflection. He had pale skin - not the sickly kind, but glowing with health like pure, polished ivory, rosy pink blush sitting high on his cheekbones. His hair was silver, like he was fresh out of one of the old black and white Hollywood movies, cropped short with streaks of wavy bangs falling over his left eye. Beneath his long black coat, Yuuri could make out smart trousers and a fancy shirt and waistcoat, hugging what looked like a trim, but strong figure. Everything about him was neat and precise, simple yet extravagant.

Yuuri couldn’t fault him.

Then Victor’s bright gaze - blue like clear Mediterranean waters - dipped down to the glass in Yuuri’s hand. His grin twitched. “Is that vodka?”

_What?_

Yuuri’s brain short circuited the moment Victor stepped forward, fighting the urge to step back before the glass was plucked from his fingers and Victor dipped at the waist, giving it a short sniff. His eyebrows disappeared up into his hairline, angling the glass away.

“Ugh,” his pretty mouth twisted in a grimace, tossing his leather briefcase on the bed next to Yuuri’s rucksack. “Not good vodka.”

Yuuri’s mouth dropped open to explain, to say he didn’t really care about taste or quality - just the warm burn of alcohol in any shape or form to soothe the fluttering of his heart and twist in his gut that he was constantly burdened with - but Victor stole the words right from his lips when he stepped even closer, reaching over Yuuri’s shoulder with focused eyes. Something clicked and cool air washed over the back of Yuuri’s neck. _The window_ , he pieced together, too  drawn by the intent in Victor’s eyes and the strong musk of his cologne to turn or complain.

Victor’s arm jerked.

When it pulled back, Yuuri’s glass was empty. Victor pressed it back into Yuuri’s hands without a word, turning away to his briefcase.

Yuuri just blinked in shock - had Victor just _thrown_ his drink away?

His mouth was still open, gaping gormless while Victor rummaged with his briefcase, his back hiding what he was searching for. Yuuri just watched the bob of his shoulders and elbows, waiting. What was he doing? Sure, Victor was hot, but he wasn’t _that_ hot that he could just waste Yuuri’s money like-

“Here,” Victor turned on his heels, smooth and stylish. A tall bottle sat in his hands, label shiny and written in crisp Cyrillic. “Try this. This will be much better.”

He shouldn’t be smiling so wide for a guy who had just shamelessly chucked a guy’s drink away within minutes of meeting him but … he was. And for some strange, twisted reason that Yuuri couldn’t explain, Yuuri let him.

He didn’t move as Victor popped the corked lid off the bottle with a tight pop and stepped forward, hand cupping around Yuuri’s around the glass to hold it steady. He filled the glass - taller than the bartender had - with an intensity in his eyes that took Yuuri’s breath away, the ice  in his irises sharp and crisp like the spirit pouring into Yuuri’s glass. He watched the crystal clear vodka like it was liquid gold, handling the bottle delicate and careful like it was something precious. He took a swig of his own before he replaced the cork, straight from the bottle.

He didn’t even blink.

Yuuri just stared.

Who _was_ this man?

“So where are you going, Yuuri?”

Yuuri blinked back to reality, jumping at the question. Victor’s eyes were lighter, less intense - but they still pinned Yuuri to the spot, fighting the urge to take a step back.

“Um,” he forgot how words worked, mind running blank. He pressed his eyes shut, clambering his thoughts together. “I don’t know yet. I’m just … um, what’s the phrase… having a rest? Getting away from home …” The words came out stiff and stilted but Yuuri still sucked in a breath when they were all out and in relatively understandable English. He opened his eyes. “What about you?”

Victor’s smooth smile widened. “Russia,” he said, smirk tweaking in a corner. “I’m travelling back home.”

Yuuri nodded, taking a tentative sip of his glass. His eyes shot wide in surprise - he tasted the difference immediately. The drink tasted cool even though there was no ice in the glass, smooth and crisp with a gentle burn at the back of his throat and sweet undertones of … was that vanilla, tingling on his tongue? Damn, it was good. It didn’t taste anything like the paint stripper he’d had before.

Victor’s eyes shone knowingly across the compartment, shrugging off his trench coat and tossing it over his top bunk. He was clad in a charcoal grey three piece suit underneath, sinfully smooth and moulded to his lithe figure.

Yuuri’s cheeks burned hot, eyes falling back down to his glass and swallowing the lump in his throat hard. God, this wasn’t fair... “W-where in Russia do you live?”

He had to take his mind off it.

Victor slipped off his suit jacket, popping off his cuff-links and rolling up the sleeves of his white, expensive looking shirt to rest around his strong forearms. His hands braced on his hips, stance relaxed yet powerful and… pretty damned hot, actually.

Yuuri swore in the back of his head.

“St Petersburg.”

Yuuri tried not to stare. Tried - and failed. He took another lingering sip from his glass. “I’ve never been there.”

“Well, it’s not too late to change your ticket,” Victor winked over his shoulder as he tucked the vodka back in his bag and lifted it up to his top bunk over his coat and jacket. “You should visit. It’s a beautiful place. Lots to do there.”

“Besides you?”

_Shit._

Yuuri’s mouth fell open at the same time as Victor’s just as shocked as the Russian at what he’d just said. “I, um, I mean-”

What did he mean?

_Exactly what he’d said._

Against his better judgement, Yuuri just abandoned his words and necked the last of vodka in the glass in one, feeling the warmth shoot straight to his cheeks. Liquid courage bubbled in his chest, taking off the string of the humiliation. Well, most of it at least… “Um, s-so what do you do?”

The empty glass clacked down on the mini table producing from the wall unsteadily and Yuuri’s face burned hotter at the very noticeable fumble.

Victor’s grin just blossomed back into place though, eyes lighting up. His shoulders bobbed in a shrug, leaning back against the frame of the bunk bed and folding his arms across his chest, strong forearms on clear display. Like he was showing off. Victor must have caught him looking. Yuuri didn’t have the blood vessel space to fuel his flush any darker.

“I …” Victor’s eyes rolled to the ceiling, finger touching to his lips. Yuuri couldn’t stop staring at his mouth when he did. “I find people for my boss.”

Yuuri frowned – what did that mean?

His head cocked to the side. “Like a headhunter?”

“Um…” Victor’s head rocked, eyes rolling up in thought again. “Yeah,” he finally settled on. “Let’s go with that. Like a headhunter.”

Yuuri could imagine Victor as a headhunter. He could see how those bright blue eyes might sharpen shrewdly, how they might pierce through a person and pick out their talents and flaws, how his keen mind might find links between a person and their capabilities, and how his forthcoming personality might win people over for his boss. He would be good at it, Yuuri thought, grazing his eyes over Victor’s sleek appearance appreciatively. And if he couldn’t convince them, Yuuri was pretty sure he’d be able to seduce them at least…

He snapped his eyes back up to Victor’s face a heartbeat before they dropped to the Russian’s belt, his face on fire when he realised what he’d been doing. Far from discreetly.

Across the compartment, Victor just smirked.

“See something you like, Yuuri?” he purred, accent thick and delicious, rolling over every syllable with a crisp edge that shouldn’t have been as inviting as it sounded.

Yuuri felt his insides melt.

His mouth ran dry, heart pounding a mile a minute. Something was ringing in his ears and his head swam light – _the vodka_ , he thought, catching up with him at last. He could feel it. He could feel his slight shift in gravity as he swayed every so slightly on the spot - hoping Victor didn’t notice - felt the restlessness bubbling under his skin and the heat radiating off his face, heart beating fast behind his ribs.

He wasn’t normally like this. Flustered, yes. Blushing, yes. Embarrassing, yes - but nobody had ever sent waves of heat through him with just a mere look, loosened his lips enough for every first thought to slip out unfiltered.

Yuuri didn’t like it.

His eyes dropped low, rolling over the pattern on Victor’s shiny black shoes. Smart. Delicate. Pretty. It was a safe area, granting Yuuri half a heartbeat to gather his thoughts.

He needed to shut them off.

_Sleep._

He closed his eyes tight. He wasn’t sure where the voice in his head had come from, but he was pretty sure it was right. Sleep would be good. Sleep would be safe. Sleep would stop him saying such ridiculous things and when he woke up, he would be in a new country, with new opportunities and a new future.

And hopefully Victor would be gone, nothing but a hot dream and a fantasy that Yuuri could chalk up as an interesting mystery to inspire the pages of his next book.

_Sleep was good._

“T-thanks for the vodka,” he stammered to Victor’s shoes, shuffling awkwardly on the spot. “I don’t have any money but, um -”

His hands patted his pockets, jumper flat and jeans empty save for his wallet and phone. His wallet didn’t have anything - just a few cents change from the bar! He couldn’t possibly insult Victor by offering him that.

“ _Um…_ ”

Yuuri’s heart rate knocked up a bit, heart boxing with his sternum. He had to do something. Victor had been so kind to him, so nice.

_Well, he had just replaced the drink he’d chucked out the window, but still..._

Yuuri wanted to do something, give Victor something to thank him for the drink, to remember him by. He glanced up for half a second, scanning around the compartment, looking anywhere but at Victor. His coat was hanging on the back of the compartment door, backpack on the bed. For all his travels, Yuuri had to have something…

He went for the backpack.

Yuuri felt Victor watch his every move as he went to the bed, legs feeling heavier and clunkier than normal. He ignored it. It was probably just nerves - just like the way his fingertips tingled with pins and needles, numb as they pinched the zipper of his backpack and dragged it down. All manner of crap fell out.

He had a novelty t-shirt from London. A half eaten baguette from Paris. A cheap lighter from Barcelona, and manga book in Japanese from Tokyo. A bottle of water.

There had to be more.

Yuuri shoved the nonsense aside. He really didn’t have much, he thought, fingers clawing through the back and scooping out spare shirts, and notepads, pens, and-

“Ah!”

His hands froze, breath catching.

Maybe it was the vodka. Maybe it was the exhaustion - but as soon as Yuuri’s fingers bumped the firm, slightly pimpled peel of the orange, his eyes shone round, a surge of warmth bubbling through him. _That was it._

It wasn’t much, he knew. At least, he knew he should have known, fingers curling in the fragile netting holding the oranges together and pulling them out of the backpack, ripping it open. Oranges bounced out over the bed-sheets. In that moment though, they were the most precious thing that Yuuri had, shining  like little round beacons, cutting through the dim, fleeting light in the compartment.

The same light that had bounced off Victor’s sharp blue eyes as they’d watched him moments ago - as they were still watching him.

Yuuri could feel it.

His fingers closed around one of the oranges on the mattress, heart skipping a beat as he felt the fruit squirm under the pressure of his fingers, juice and flesh caving beneath the surface. He felt it.

It was like a mirror of the sensations jolting through him beneath his own skin, squirming and shifting, curling away from the intensity of Victor’s eyes bearing into the back of his skull. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. He felt uncomfortable in his own skin, itching like it was stretched too tight over his bones, like it didn’t belong to him. He wished he could peel it off like the orange could, giving it one last envious squeeze.

_He wished Victor could peel it off for him. With him. Exposed, and naked, and -_

“Here.”

He held it out to Victor, eyes following only far enough to glimpse the sleeves rolled around the Russian’s forearms. They unfolded slowly, hands hanging by his side.

They didn’t take the fruit.

Yuuri felt his face burn with embarrassment. “I-I got some in Italy,” he said, remembering the smiling old man that had given them to him as thanks for helping him carry the crates of oranges to his truck. This probably wasn’t what the old man had had in mind… “They should still be good.”

They still felt good. Soft enough to be able to peel well but still firm enough to hold their shape and juice well, not too ripe. And they tasted good. Yuuri remembered that much, helping himself to one on the back of the old man’s truck, hitching a lift into town.

He remembered it clearly, the clarity startling him a little bit. It was the first solid thought he’d had in a while with Victor around, rational and controlled.  

He was even brave enough to let his eyes creep a little higher than Victor’s forearms.

The Russian looked a little… well, shocked. He looked a little paler than Yuuri remembered, lips hovering a hairsbreadth apart. His eyes were bright and round, staring at the orange like it was dressed in gold leaf or something rather than just bundled out of Yuuri’s backpack. His fingers twitched at his side. It was another moment before they actually reached out.

Yuuri sucked in a sharp breath when Victor’s fingertips brushed over his, warmth shooting through him as cold fingers made contact.

Victor’s eyes flickered up.

They were darker.

Something curled thick in the bottom of Yuuri’s ribcage as the bottom of his stomach dropped out like it did when he was taking off in an aeroplane, air gasping between his lips and heart fluttering. All from a touch. A single, lingering touch that Victor still hadn’t pulled away from, his eyes thick and … well, Yuuri didn’t want to say dangerous, but … _dangerous_.

“You should go to sleep, Yuuri.”

The words hit Yuuri half a beat late, a fraction of a second after he watched Victor’s lips move, mimicking the sound. Or was it the other way around? Yuuri couldn’t tell.

Victor’s voice sounded deep and rich, accent thick and … _hypnotic_. Yuuri’s eyelids fluttered.

“Go to sleep, Yuuri…”

 

* * *

 

Yuuri woke up with a quiet gasp, shrouded in darkness that seemed to pass in waves, bed rocking beneath him in gentle rollings like… like a train. He was on a train, he remembered. His eyes flickered out past the end of his bed to the window, the sturdy square out into the unchanging night sky. Clouds back dropped by moonlight filled it, scattered with sparkling stars. It was late. It was night.

Only Yuuri didn’t remember going to bed.

Yet here he was, tucked in well in the bottom bunk, staring around the compartment he’d stood and chatted with Victor in not long ago. Was it not long ago? Yuuri couldn’t tell.

His empty glass was still on the table.

His bag was in the corner of the room.

And Victor was nowhere to be seen.

Yuuri propped himself up silently on his elbow, head thick and groggy. It felt heavy, longing to settle back into the pillows again, the blanket draped over him pressing comfortably against his shoulders. Too high for him to have dragged it over himself, he realised, breath catching quietly. Somebody else… somebody else had draped the blanket over him while he slept. Only there was no one else. Only-

_Victor._

Light passed through the compartment like they were passing streetlamps, casting shadows on the far wall, but it wasn’t that that had woken him, Yuuri slowly realised.

It was the _noise_.

Soft moans echoed around the compartment, the quiet squelch… _the orange,_ Yuuri thought, recognising the sound of juicy flesh tearing. It was matched with deep breaths. Deep, _heavy_ breaths, thick and laboured…

“Ah!”

Yuuri blinked through the fading light, eyes wide. The shadows on the wall danced, starlight, moonlight - maybe even a phone light! Yuuri didn’t know - bouncing off the wall above him, bouncing the echo of what was happening in the top bunk onto the other side of the compartment.

He saw Victor’s shadow. He saw a hand reach up and drag through the Russian’s hair. He saw a leg drawn up ever so slightly, back arching off the bed.

And he saw a fist at Victor’s hips.

It moved fast, pumping up and down to the music of more thick squelching, Victor’s strong chin tilting back, hand slipping down from his hair to his mouth. It wasn’t enough to muffle the quiet groan that slipped.

It took a few seconds for Yuuri to click what was happening.

“ _Yuuri_!”

Victor’s voice was quiet but urgent, strained with desperation and pinched with a frustration that Yuuri knew all too well, one that itched at the front of his jeans the more he listened.

Victor was masturbating.

Victor was masturbating thinking about _Yuuri._

Victor was touching himself with Yuuri’s orange, thinking about Yuuri.

Another muffled groan slapped through the compartment, springs of the mattress above Yuuri flexing through the wired frame.

Yuuri’s eyes shot wide. He hardly dared breathe, listening to Victor gasp and sigh above him, watching him stroke himself in the fleeting shadows on the wall with anticipation crawling hot through his skin, stiffening in his jeans. He couldn’t help it, slipping a hand under the sheets to palm at himself.

What would Victor look like, he wondered, touching himself?

Would he be blushing? Would the colour spill down his chest, the softest pink like the kiss of rose wine spilled over his body? Would it be the same on his cock? Pink pushing through orange, juice spilling over Victor’s hand as he furiously pumped himself, thick and long, dreaming of Yuuri instead of the soft fruit he fisted around himself - _Yuuri’s fruit -_

Yuuri pressed his eyes shut, shutting off his thoughts. He could hear the orange squelch around Victor’s cock, hear the noises it drew from Victor …

He shouldn’t listen, he told himself, watching the shadows shift on the wall. They moved faster. He shouldn’t listen, he shouldn’t look - he should give Victor his privacy and pretend he’d never known anything about it. It was none of his business.

But one gasp of Yuuri’s name from that beautiful man’s lips above him and Yuuri couldn’t help it, palming harder against his own tight pants and teeth biting down on his lip.

It took everything in him not to whimper.

He couldn’t help it. Those plump pink lips were gasping _his_ name, those long slender fingers pulling on Victor’s cock around the fruit _Yuuri_ had given him. All Yuuri could see was the outline of Victor in the shadows, but an outline was enough to know what he was doing, Yuuri’s elaborate imagination filling in the blanks a little too well.

He wondered what Victor was imagining. Was he imagining he was fucking Yuuri instead of the orange? Was he thinking of Yuuri riding him? Of digging his fingers into the soft flesh of Yuuri’s hips instead of the fruit?

Yuuri’s fingers walked up his painfully hard length, shoving his fist in his mouth to hold back a whine at the sensation. He was so turned on. Listening to Victor made him so turned on.

How long had Victor been touching himself?

Yuuri wanted to know, wanted to know everything about the man tugging himself off above him. If his shirt was still on, if his eyebrows pinched together when he concentrated, if he bit his lip when he was close or just groaned through his fingers, hard, desperate, and urgent like he could hardly bear it-

Victor jerked in the shadows.

His back arched off the bed, spine snapping back straight again and again as another moan - deeper and more… content than before - echoed around the compartment. His hand slowed around his cock, squelching softening.

It was all Yuuri needed.

He gasped around his fingers, sharp and maybe a little louder than he should have been - but he couldn’t tell because he was already coming hard in his jeans.

The ghost of that brilliant blue gaze flashed behind his eyes, sparkling with amusement and challenge, like Victor was enjoying it, like he was teasing Yuuri in his imagination. Yuuri’s eyes rolled back in his head, surrendering to the warmth turning his bones to jelly and the wetness sticking in the front of his underwear, hot and shameful, an unignorable reminder of what he’d just done. _He’d gotten off listening to his travel-mate getting off._ A _stranger -_ a hot stranger, but a stranger all the same - jerking off with his gift in the dark, thinking about Yuuri…

Yuuri slumped back on the bed, eyes wide and staring at the bed frame above him. Everything was still. Everything was silent. The shadows on the wall were dimmer - Victor must have turned his phone light off. He must have gone to sleep.

Yuuri should do the same, still catching his breath a little behind his fingers and feeling the stickiness start to tack in his underwear. He couldn’t change or clean up though - not without giving away to Victor that he was awake, that he’d been awake through _all of everything._ It was too much. It was too embarrassing.

He didn’t really want to move anyway. His body felt relaxed and his eyelids heavy, that same sensation that had first lulled him asleep all that time ago, that soft voice whispering to him from the depths of his mind, dragging him under…

_Sleep..._

So Yuuri closed his eyes, and slept.

 

* * *

 

When he woke, the train was in Poland.

And Victor was gone.

He tried not to feel too disappointed as he got up, shoving his strewn about things back into his backpack with a bitter taste in his mouth, casting one last lingering gaze to the glass on the table before he went. There was nothing to suggest Victor had ever been there, not a trace of the man left behind. Even his bed was made, as perfect as when Yuuri had first strolled into the empty compartment back in France.

Perhaps Victor hadn’t been there, Yuuri thought as he stepped off the train and onto the busy station, digging his hands into his jacket pocket. Perhaps he had had too strong a drink and imagined the whole thing. Perhaps his writers block had made him a little delusional, so desperate to find that one brilliant idea that sent hearts racing and words flowing...

Real or not, Yuuri couldn’t deny the way he’d felt when he’d talked to him, when those impossibly crisp blue eyes had turned in his direction.

Shivers ran through him at the mere thought.

He should write about him, Yuuri decided, hitching his bag higher up his shoulder and carving a path through the thick throng of travellers to nowhere in particular. He should write about a handsome Russian man with eyes blue like glaciers and hair like moonlight, soft and hard at the same time, sleek and mysterious. He could be anything Yuuri wanted him to be. A headhunter, a model, a figure skater even… or an assassin, a spy, a hitman - those brilliant blue eyes the last thing a person saw before the world went black.

The idea made Yuuri smile, already able to see the words hit the page in his head, praying he could cling to them long enough for him to find a keyboard.

First thing was first though, he thought to himself with eyes flickering ahead, cutting his path through the station sharply to the right and away from the coffee shops and bookstores. Instead, he made a beeline for the ticket booth - he needed an upgrade to St Petersburg.

 

* * *

 

Victor watched Yuuri go across the station with dark eyes hidden behind Gucci sunglasses, hands folded on the table next to his coffee and briefcase leaning against his ankle. The tiniest of smirks twitched at his lips.

He knew he shouldn’t smile. It was wrong, it was a mistake - but Victor had already made so many mistakes on this mission, one more hardly seemed to matter.

“Yuuri Katsuki…” he murmured to himself, watching the young man stumble over his words at the ticket booth, blushing pink and tilting his head apologetically. Victor could already imagine the laughter spilling from Yuuri’s lips - stiff and awkward. Like how he’d been in the compartment. Stiff and awkward… and completely charming.

Victor hadn’t stood a chance.

“Interesting...”

Now, neither did Yuuri.

To anybody else, Victor was just scratching his ear - only Victor knew about the earpiece, tiny and invisible. He tried to keep the glee out of his voice, as cold and calculating as he could - just as he was known for.

“Target acquired. Agent in pursuit.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a scene in the book Call Me By Your Name. Only it was a peach, not an orange. I’m not sure if an orange would work in the same way. I don’t have a dick. I don’t know. I’m thinking ‘this is very acidic’ but I have no way to test this theory for research purposes and even if I did, I wouldn’t so… pretend.
> 
> Also, shadows on the wall… not sure they would really work that way but, er… I flunked physics. Pretend again! Give that imagination a workout!
> 
> And the rest… I’m sorry, I don’t even know. Forgive me.
> 
> Keep tabs on my tumblr [here](https://justrae2010.tumblr.com/) and check out my other YOI fics [here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/justrae2010/pseuds/justrae2010)
> 
> Please drop a comment before you go !
> 
> Hope you liked it!


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